


All I Want for Christmas

by stepquietly



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ambrosius,” Ballister says slowly, barely able to believe what he’s about to propose, “I think we’re going to go on a quest.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [20thcenturyvole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/20thcenturyvole/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas. Season's greeting, 20thcenturyvole! I hope you enjoy this.

The months after the fall of the Institution have been hard on the entire kingdom, but mostly they’ve been hard on Ballister. Ambrosius hasn’t taken well to the loss of everything he’s known. It’s left him silent and morose in a way that Ballister remembers well from his own first days out of the Institution, though he doesn’t recall indulging in quite as many petulant hair flips.

“I’m not petulant and it’s not a hair flip,” Ambrosius informs him petulantly while flipping his hair, nearly hitting Ballister in the face.

Ballister sighs and shifts his chair further away from the bed.

“I heard that,” Ambrosius mutters, mouth pursing into a sulky moue.

It doesn’t help that Ambrosius is still recovering, slow on his feet and easy to tire. Ballister spends hours by his bedside, tethered by some sense of what they once were to each other, what he thinks they might be to each other now. And, much as he hates to admit it to himself, he doesn’t really want to be alone either. His hideout is quieter these days, without the constant repair of doors and all.

Ballister sighs again, wistful for the feel of soft hair and stubble under his hand. He fingers the soft warmth of the red scarf around his neck instead.

Ambrosius scowls at him, and Ballister hastily adjusts his expression to something more upbeat. “What would you like to do today?” he asks, with the deliberately cheerful bedside tone of hospital workers everywhere. He’d hated it himself during the rounds of surgery, the work to fix his prosthesis in place before he’d decided to have a hand in the design, so to speak. But, he thinks as he fixes his face into as much of an encouraging smile as he can muster, perhaps Ambrosius will feel differently.

There’s a long second in which Ambrosius glares at him and Ballister can feel the muscles of his face tensing his smile into a rictus of awkwardness, before he abandons the attempt and settles back with his usual solemnity. “We can’t stay here forever,” he says, matter of fact. “It’s only so long before the Institution will revive itself, and you know what that will mean for us.”

“But we’re heroes!” Ambrosius says. “We saved the kingdom!”

Ballister stares at his outraged face and struggles to find a way to explain the incredibly short memories of the public, the speed with which you can go from hero to villain of the month. It’s something he’s spent years wishing he could show Ambrosius, years where he’d rolled over in the cots of the small jail cells they’d march him to after his capture and felt the cold metal of his arm under him, trembling with emotion as the kingdom mocked his failures. He’d spent that time thinking of nothing but showing Ambrosius how far the favoured could fall.

A small part of him almost wants to allow Ambrosius his wilful blindness, but the rest of him is far too practical to ever let that stand. “In a few months the story will be re-written and then they’ll remember that Nimona was my sidekick and that we brought her here. Then they’ll come with pitchforks and swords.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ambrosius mutters, “they’d never bring swords. They’d bring axes. That’s more peasant-like.”

Ballister rolls his eyes.

They sit in silence for a while. Eventually Ambrosius jerks his chin in a quick nod, regretful and almost forced. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Ballister touches the warm wool at his throat, thinks of Nimona apparently teaching herself to knit, wonders about the likelihood of ever seeing her again. “Ambrosius,” he says slowly, barely able to believe what he’s about to propose, “I think we’re going to go on a quest.”

* * *

 

“Go on a quest, he says. Find his sidekick, he says,” Ambrosius grumbles as they climb yet another mountain. He stumbles slightly in the snow, but then girds himself and marches on. “Let’s bring home a dragon, he says.”

“Shhh,” Ballister shushes him, covering his mouth and shoving him behind a tree. “Look!”

In the clearing in front of them is... well, it looks like...

“Nimona,” Ballister whispers.

“Evil pink reindeer,” Ambrosius says at the same time.

“She’s not evil,” Ballister says sharply, as Ambrosius watches the reindeer breathe fire on a rabbit and eat it, eyes gleaming with manic glee.

Ambrosius tries to sidle away while Ballister stays and watches the reindeer devour two more rabbits and a bird, a look of paternal pride on his tired face.

Most people would probably turn and run from a fire-breathing pink reindeer, but Ambrosius is learning every day that Ballister’s not most people anymore. If anything, Ballister’s smiling wider than he has in all the months that they’ve been on their quest, though some of that could be because they’ve finally found their erstwhile prey.

“Nimona!” he calls out, excited, bursting forward through the bushes, eager to obtain her if it’ll keep that look on Ballister’s face.

He has a second to regret this as those beady eyes fix on his.

* * *

 

“I don’t see how this is my fault,” Nimona grumbles, fingers tugging on a tuft of pink hair irritably. “He ran straight at me.”

“Yes, well, that explains the fire,” Ballister allows, still wrapping bandages around Ambrosius’ arm. “I’m not so sure it explains the headbutt and the trampling afterwards.” Ambrosius checks the tightness and nods quickly, smiling his thanks.

Nimona shrugs, looking shifty. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

“I hailed you with a greeting,” Ambrosius mutters, cradling his arm to his chest.

“And I responded,” she points out. “That’s just what reindeer do.”

“That’s not what reindeer do,” Ballister feels he has to point out, though he’s not precisely sure what reindeer, in fact, do.

“Close enough,” Nimona mutters.

Ballister exhales out a long breath. He steps away from where he’s been seeing to Ambrosius to stand beside Nimona, strangely hesitant now that she’s finally here. He isn’t precisely sure what to do with his hands, whether hugging her will be allowed or if this will prompt another round of fire breathing.

In the end he does what he’s always done and waits for Nimona to come to him.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Nimona slowly edges closer until finally she’s close enough that he can pull her into a hug, the palm of his hand brushing against soft hair and stubble again.

“It’s good to see you, boss,” she says, quiet and awkward in a way that makes something hurt in Ballister's chest.

Ballister squeezes her tighter. “I could say the same thing.”


End file.
